Weary Traveler
by CatsbytheGreat
Summary: Late one night in a chip shop, two men have a talk.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.**

**

* * *

**The city of London was a strange place.

Lewis Farell, who worked in a chip shop in London, would not have thought that for just any reason. He would not have said it just to say it. No, London was a strange place, and he knew from _experience_.

After all, how many strange things had happened? Lewis never watched the news before, and then people started talking about aliens in London, so he began to watch it. There were more and more reports—space crafts, strange creatures, even stranger happenings. For instance, there was that hospital that disappeared completely, then reappeared just a few hours later. All the nurses and doctors and patients said the same thing: the hospital had been transported to the moon.

That had been a few months ago. Maybe a year at most.

There had also been that Titanic incident on Christmas day.

Strange.

It happened a lot less everywhere else. Lewis was sure that countries like the U.S. hardly ever got things like aliens and what-not. Sure, the U.S. might not like that, but he thought they ought to consider themselves lucky. After all, they weren't being threatened with invasion or death every few months.

Perhaps the U.S. was jealous that Britain was receiving all the attention.

But now was a calm period. It was the beginning of spring. The weather was beginning to warm a bit, though it rained still, and the children were getting excited as the school year came closer to its close.

Lewis still worked in the chip shop, keeping customers happy and occasionally looking up at the television placed over the counter to watch the news.

Nothing. Nothing for awhile.

He was working late one night. It was almost closing and he had considered locking up early, since nobody was in the shop. Just as he began to seriously consider this, a man in a trench coat walked in, effectively and completely shattering his plans.

"May I help you?" he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Yes." The man glanced at the television, still tuned in to the news station, and then back at Lewis. He looked more tired than Lewis felt after a long day working. "Can I have some…chips." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in something like an ironic grin.

"Coming right up." Lewis set to work on the friar. The shop fell silent.

"How have things been here, anyway?" came an unexpected question from his customer.

Lewis frowned. "Been in this shop…?"

The man laughed. "No, I meant in London."

"Oh." Lewis frowned. "Nothing much, really. Just your regular news. None of that strange stuff that seems to be happening more and more, if that's what you mean." A pause. "You're not from around here."

"No, I suppose not," the man sighed. "At least, I spend a lot of time here, but I'm not from here. And I travel. A _lot_. So I haven't been here these past few months. I usually am pretty on top of things when it comes to news, especially for this city, but as I said, I've been travelling."

Lewis tossed the chips in the friar, watching the oil bubble around them. "You're a traveler?" he asked.

"You could say that," the man answered. "Sometime I wish that's all I was."

The chips were ready. Lewis dumped them on a plate and handed them off to the man, who popped one into his mouth and smiled. "Tastes like London," he remarked.

Lewis smiled as well. "So you're more than a traveler," he said, not really knowing what else to do. This man seemed to want to talk and there was no one else in the shop. Lewis was used to talking to some customers when they needed it.

"I guess that's what life has done to me," the man said, considering a rather thick chip. "I always go to places with the intention to see them, just to experience something knew. And I end up…doing work, I suppose you could say. I end up getting involved with all sorts of people who need all sorts of things, and that distracts me from my main goal."

"Which is?"

"To travel, just to see things, just for fun," the man replied. He glanced down at the chips, then back up again, and a far-away look stole over his face. "Still, it never gets old, seeing something new. I've been all over the place, to places most people wouldn't even dream of. I love it. Everyone's always so interesting, the places so different and so _beautiful_. I always feel like I'm looking for something that I haven't found, which is probably why I never stop. There's so much out there, and still so much to see…" A small grin emerged. "And then I always end up back here. Interesting, that."

"You sound like you do nothing but travel," Lewis pointed out. "Even if there is work involved. Everyone's got to do a bit of work to get a bit of pleasure, right?"

"Right," the man said, his eyes locking onto Lewis'. "That's absolutely right. The work isn't what most people would call _fun_, and sometimes it ends miserably, but I can't say I regret much of it. I don't really regret any of it, actually. That's just how things are, I suppose." He smiled. "What's your name?"

"Lewis. Why?"

The man's eyes were piercing. Lewis felt strange under this odd man's gaze. "You're a good man, Lewis."

Lewis wasn't quite sure what to say. Before he could think of a proper response, however, the man had stood up and was making his way towards the door.

"Wait!" Lewis called. "You haven't told me your name."

"It doesn't matter," the man said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well…" Lewis sighed. "More traveling to do?"

The other man smiled. "Yeah," he said. "A lot more traveling. Eventually I might slow things down a bit, but not for awhile." He frowned slightly, as if stuck in a thought. "No, not for a long time. Still more excitement to come, I suppose. And all that miserable work and wonderful pleasure, too."

Lewis frowned. "You look tired," he said, noticing once again the appearance of the other man. He was not old. He actually looked a bit young, but his eyes looked years older, and they looked tired.

The man shrugged again. "All that travelling wears a person out," he said simply. "But I just can't stop. If I stopped, then I'd be so full of energy with nothing to do. That would be _tragic_." He sighed and glanced outside. "Well, I should go. It's late. Things to see, places to go, all that. Have a good life."

Then he was gone, disappeared into the night.

Lewis stood there, mulling over what the man had said. He had never quite had a customer like that, but he didn't allow himself to be surprised for long. In London there were all sorts of people.

Still, he had liked the conversation. It got him thinking.

Perhaps he would start travelling. He had never been out of country, but the rest of the world was starting to look very interesting. All of the strange occurrences from past years suddenly came back to him, all those alien encounters of sorts. If Britain was getting contacted by people from other worlds, it was about time that he start looking at other countries.

Maybe Paris, maybe Rome, maybe New York. Maybe Hong Kong, or Sydney.

He was still young. There was plenty of time to see all those places, and more.


End file.
